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break up poem

em números mournful
abaixo do helm do guerreiro
eu ando abaixo os trajetos do jardim
esta bacia de prata antiga de meus
quando eu estive escutar, discreetly dumb
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
havia nunca um som ao lado da madeira mas de uma
sobre o rio beckon a mim
eu arremessei minha alma ao ar como um vôo do falcão
era não para esse cheiro singular
nenhuma rapina é mim de pensamentos pobres
doubtless eu recordo ainda
havia um momento em anos anteriores

 



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